Zuo Feng hadn't paid much attention to the brocade-clad corpse before, but as he was leaving, he felt the corpse's arm was quite unnatural.
Generally, when someone is killed, they instinctively defend themselves or cover their wounds. But this corpse's arm stretched out strangely, as if trying hard to grab something. Following the direction of the hand, Zuo Feng's gaze slowly fell on one of the legs of the writing desk.
A slight crack in the desk leg caught his attention, and he pressed his palm against the crack. With a slight force of his finger, he easily pulled out a strip of wood, revealing a note.
The three-finger-wide note showed no signs of aging, suggesting it was quite new, likely written recently. After unfolding the folded note, a few lines of writing appeared before his eyes. The handwriting was vigorous and lively, obviously written by a man, and the content was simple, only two lines.
